


The Thrilling Adventures of Lotta Goodlove

by MinervaFan



Series: The Sisters Spellman [6]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Gen, Mistaken Identity, Spellman Family - Freeform, Vintage Pin-Ups, Young Edward Spellman, Young Hilda Spellman, Young Zelda Spellman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21985441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinervaFan/pseuds/MinervaFan
Summary: When Hilda starts attracting attention from the young men of 1950s Greendale, Zelda becomes suspicious.
Relationships: Edward Spellman & Hilda Spellman, Edward Spellman & Hilda Spellman & Zelda Spellman, Edward Spellman & Zelda Spellman, Hilda Spellman & Zelda Spellman
Series: The Sisters Spellman [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1455472
Comments: 11
Kudos: 19





	The Thrilling Adventures of Lotta Goodlove

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anni20161](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Anni20161).



> Inspired by the awesome work of artist Duane Bryers. To learn more, go to: https://www.littlethings.com/duane-bryers-hilda/

Summer, 1954

The 1939 Pontiac convertible looked as if it had seen better days as it rambled up to the mortuary blaring “Chattanoogie Shoe Shine Boy” by Red Foley from its AM radio. Zelda watched from the porch as the car shuddered to a stop and a clean-cut GI jumped out of the driver seat. A plump blonde sat in the passenger seat--a very specific, frustratingly specific plump blonde, the elder Spellman sister noted. The blonde waited as the GI trotted around the car to open her door.

Instead of opening the door, however, he motioned for her to stand before lifting her bodily out of the car and depositing her soundly. He then reached into the car and pulled out a pair of matching grocery bags which the blonde, none other than Miss Hilda Spellman, refused to let him carry to the door.

Zelda glared at the young mortal as he began to follow Hilda to the door. Whether he was consciously aware of her scrutiny or not, his survival instincts seemed to kick in and he waved goodbye as he headed back to the driver seat.

“Bye, Jimmy,” Hilda called as she started up the steps with her groceries. “Thanks again for the lift!”

Zelda waited until the car drove off, wretched music fading out of existence, before speaking to her sister. “Hilda, you cannot continue to fraternize with these mortal boys.”

Hilda laughed, her curls bobbing around her dimpled cheeks as she maneuvered the door. “I’m not fraternizing. Jimmy just gave me a lift back from the grocer.”

‘You did not need a lift, Sister. You could have easily teleported.”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure that would have been much better. ‘Sorry, Jimmy, I don’t need a ride because I’m a witch who can magically transport myself home much more efficiently.’”

Zelda rolled her eyes, as she stood to follow her younger sister inside. “Joke if you will, Sister, but people are beginning to notice.”

Hilda snorted. “What people?”

“Our people. Your people.” Zelda sighed as Hilda headed into the kitchen and began unloading her purchases. “Your brother is the high priest, for Satan’s sake! You cannot be seen cavorting around with these mortal men.”

“I wasn’t cavorting. And Jim is a veteran and an upstanding member of this community.”

“It’s not just this one. Last week, it was that Miller boy, asking if you needed help in the garden. And before that, the milkman asked after you, even though he sees you twice a week. And…”

“Can I help it if I make friends?” Hilda pulled a canister of coffee from the bag and set it on the cabinet with a thunk. “Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.”

That got a raised eyebrow from her sister. “Hardly. However, if you’re involved in anything salacious with these mortals, just stop now.”

“Salacious? Zelds, I don’t know where you get your imagination! They’re just being friendly.”

Zelda sniffed. “Trust me, Hilda. There is no such thing as a friendly mortal male!”

*  
“Honestly, Edward, you should be involved. After all, it’s not only her reputation I’m thinking about.” Zelda took another puff of her cigarette as Edward leafed through the pages of the report he was reviewing. “You have your standing in the Church to think about.”

Edward lifted a single eyebrow in his sister’s direction. “My standing, is it, Sister?” He laughed at her indignant scoff. “We’ve had this discussion before, Zelda. Hildegard marches to the beat of her own drum. No matter how hard you and Mother tried, you’re never going to mold her into something she is not.”

Zelda set her cigarette on the rim of the ashtray, turning her full attention to her brother. “Ned, it’s not just that she is making a fool of herself with these mortals, which is a conversation to be had all on its own. But these boys? In convertibles? GIs home from the war? Honestly, she’s a babe in the woods, and they’re a bunch of hungry wolves just looking for a meal.”

“It isn’t like she hasn’t had relationships before…”

“These aren’t the same, Edward, and you know it. These are red-blooded, heterosexual males with penises who have been to war. And they are sniffing around our baby sister with hell knows what sort of mischief on their minds.” Before he could speak, she continued, “I know you think I’m overreacting, but you haven’t been there. You didn’t have to pick up the pieces when she had to leave that mortal she took up with after the Civil War. You never had to hear her sniffing and crying when she had gotten her heartbroken yet again because of her foolish romanticism.”

Edward looked up from his paperwork. “You don’t think she is getting serious with any of these boys, do you?”

That was all the encouragement Zelda needed. She was up and across the room in a moment, her concern evident in every step. “You know how romantic she is. One only needs a small amount of imagination to see how a ‘kind gesture’ from one of these boys could turn into a catastrophic carnal encounter that leaves her confused and devastated--or worse, madly in love and ready to run off with yet another mortal!”

Edward nodded gravely. “As head of the Spellman house, it’s my duty to protect her, I know. But…”

“But what?”

He shook his head. “She just seems so happy for the company, Zelds. I sometimes think our little sister was born at the wrong time and in the wrong place.” He sighed. “She always seems just a little bit sad under that smile. Just a little bit...lonely.”

“Why ever should she be lonely?” Zelda insisted. “She has us!”

*

To all appearances, Zelda Spellman was a model woman of the Church of Night. She read her Unholy Bible studiously and devoutly, followed the tenets of the faith, and submitted wholly to the whim of The Dark Lord...and by extension, His representatives here on Earth.

However, this current representative of His Unholiness was also her brother and, at times, very clueless as to the ways of the secular world. Despite his brilliance, his charisma, and his ambition, Edward had a large blind spot when it came to Hilda. In his eyes, she would always be a chubby five-year-old, pink-cheeked, laughing, chasing butterflies in the wide-open fields around the sprawling family farm where they’d grown up. Hilda’s lack of interest in the more salacious aspects of Church community signaled to Edward a virtue and chastity Zelda knew better than to assume.

And if Edward was not concerned enough to find out why this current rash of mortal boys were buzzing about their sister, Zelda was more than willing to do so herself. Armed with a suitable glamour, she set off to town to do a little detective work.

*

Martello’s had begun at the end of the last century as an old-fashioned grocer, where a shopper handed the proprietor a list and he (or his wife) cheerfully gathered the necessary items for the customer as they waited. Somewhere around the end of the Thirties, they had shifted to “basket marketing.” Hardly as bad as the wheeled carts in those soulless so-called “super” markets, but still a far cry from the civilized transactions of the past.

In the mornings, Martello’s Grocery was the domain of the re-domesticated mortal female, shopping for their growing families now that their returning soldiers had made the world safe for democracy once more. The riches of Croesus could not have tempted Zelda through the swinging doors of the market during those morning hours. No, the overwhelming smell of baby powder and domestic oppression was more than she could take.

Once the schools began letting out, however, Martello’s demographics began to shift dramatically. Gone were the gaggling housewives, seeking relevance in the latest brand of laundry soap and canned foods, only to be replaced by that most mortal of all creatures--teenagers.

She wore the glamour of a young man, crew-cut hair and khakis, manly but unthreatening to strangers. She’d peppered the spell with a little magical charisma, just a hint of “Don’t I know you from somewhere…” mixed into the clean-cut image to grease the wheels of post-adolescent society.

She sauntered through the store, eyeing the fresh produce on sale. The green onions and peppers were much fresher and greener than they had the right to be this late in the season. Of course they did, as Hilda frequently traded the surplus from her gardens for staples like butter or flour or sugar. If the store manager ever wondered how she could continue to supply fresh produce long after the other gardens had succumbed to the cold, he never broached the subject. No matter where it came from if supply gave him an edge over the competition.

“You looking for something in particular, son?”

Zelda jumped at the voice behind her. The store’s assistant manager was an unpleasant creature, a ponderous, sweaty man in his mid-40s who smelled of Brylcreem and tobacco. His eyes, peering from under a single bushy eyebrow across his forehead, were reminiscent of garden snake too lazy to strike.

“Just browsing.” Her voice came out low, strong, the magical charisma swirling around Mr. Brylcreem Snake-Eyes like a salve. “New in town.”

The single brow lifted in acknowledgment. “Furlough?”

Zelda shook her head. “Discharged. Just back from Korea. What’s to do in this town?” She lifted the corner of her mouth in an innocent, but suggestive grin.

Snake-Eyes chuckled. “I’m afraid you’ll find Greendale pretty dull after the streets of Seoul.” He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, even though the afternoon was on the cool side.

“Come on, there has to be some fun to be had. If you know what I mean.”

The assistant manager shrugged. “I’m not really in for anything wild, mind. There is a spot downtown where ex-GIs hang out that seems pretty popular. The Green Grotto Bar & Grill.”

Another calculated laugh. “I’m not looking to get drunk, friend,” she said, placing a hand on his meaty shoulder. “If you know what I mean. Just looking for some friendly companionship. Do you know anyone who might be looking for a good time?”

Snake-Eyes coughed, looking around to make sure they hadn’t been overheard in the nearly-empty store. A gaggle of teenage girls were laughing over at the soda counter, all but completely ignoring them. “Well, I don’t know about that,” he said in a low tone. “This is a very small town, is all. However….” His reptilian eyes darted around the room, and his voice dropped even lower when he continued. “If you’re looking for something to...erm...ease the pressure, we do have one item that has been flying off the shelves.”

Zelda lifted a single brow. “I’m intrigued.”

“Follow me.” He led them through the store to a secluded corner behind the hardware and farm supplies. Easing behind the counter, he leaned over to retrieve a magazine. “Now, we can’t keep these in stock. It’s not my cup of tea, but pretty much half the young men in Greendale have bought a copy of this comic.”

Zelda took the comic, reading the title before looking at the artwork. “The Thrilling Adventures of Lotta Goodlove?” She grinned. “I’m not looking for Mickey Mouse, friend.”

“Crack the cover, son.”

She looked down, giving her full attention to the cheap smut comic he’d offered.

She breathed.

She counted to ten.

She counted to ten again, and backward.

She breathed again.

With every bit of self-control she possessed, Zelda as Fun-Seeking-Ex-Soldier nodded to the assistant manager and said, “I’ll take every copy you have.”

*  
The image in the mirror stared back at her, not quite mocking but not wholly encouraging either. Hilda sighed, studying the fit of the dress she’d chosen for tonight. It was a simple flared dress, cinched at the waist with a double-breasted scoop collar. It fit her well, and the contrasting fabrics in the pleats looked smart without being flashy. She glamoured it green, then yellow, then blue, then finally a powerful red. She adjusted the neckline--lower, higher, lower.

Finally, in disgust, she fishtailed the skirt to the floor, red fabric hugging her hips before narrowing at the legs and flaring out at the ankles. She pushed the sleeves off-shoulder, plunging the neckline as daringly as she could. Her hair elongated under the glamour, smoothing, shiny and curled at her shoulders like a poor man's Lauren Bacall.

“Is he taking you to the Palladium, your mortal?” a voice behind her asked.

Hilda twirled from the mirror, glamour dissolving back into her simple blouse and skirt, hair short and curly, penny loafers and bobby socks completing the transformation. “Spying, Zelds?” she accused, hoping her blush would not be noticeable.

Zelda chuckled, her perfected brand of superiority and amused disinterest on display as she crossed to sit on her bed. “We share a room, Sister. Or has your recent whirlwind social life affected your short-term memory?”

“Jealous?” It was a childish response, but Hilda didn’t stop herself. She crossed to her dresser, making a show of pulling out a pair of nylons. “I mean, it’s usually you turning every head in the room. Can’t stand that finally, boys are noticing me?”

“So it is more than ‘a lift from the grocer’?”

Hilda shrugged. There was no shame in joining Jimmy at the cinema tonight. He was a nice man, a veteran who’d actually received a medal for valor in Korea. “Just going to see Calamity Jane at the Paramount.”

“Funny, I drove past the Paramount just the other day. They were playing From Here to Eternity.” Hilda avoided Zelda’s knowing expression. “That’s a bit racier than Doris Day, wouldn’t you say?”

Dropping the nylons with a sigh, Hilda sat on her own bed heavily. “Why can’t you just be happy for me? I mean, you can’t walk through a room without every pair of eyes - male and female - following you. He’s one fellow who thinks I’m nice.”

“You are nice.” Zelda stood, crossing the short distance to sit next to her younger sister. She wrapped an arm around Hilda’s shoulders, pulling her into a side hug and kissing the top of her head. “You are the nicest person I know. You are kind and trusting, and that’s why I worry about you cavorting with these GIs.”

“He was a full lieutenant…”

“Regardless, you know mortals have very different values than we have…”

Hilda sniffed. “I seem to recall you having the same argument when I attended Caroline Benten’s engagement party.” With an arched eyebrow, she added, “As I recall, the only man who behaved inappropriately towards me at that party was you, in a male glamour.”

“I was only trying to protect you…” Zelda started but stopped at the look of determination on her sister’s face. “..and….you no longer need protection, do you?”

“I’m a grown witch, Zelds.” Hilda leaned into her sister’s arms, softening her tone with the embrace. “I know you love me, and I know you worry about me. But I’m not some fragile thing who can’t take care of herself. And I am not as pure and innocent as you think I am.”

This garnered a full-throated laugh from Zelda. “Oh, that is Edward’s opinion of you, not mine. I’ve seen the trashy novels you think no one knows you read.” The blush on Hilda’s face garnered another laugh from the elder Miss Spellman, then a frown. “Hilda…”

“Yes?”

Zelda breathed deeply, as if steeling herself, then leaned over to open the top drawer of the nightstand separating their single beds. “I found out something...disturbing...when I went into town the other day. Now, I don’t want to alarm you, but...your mortal friend might have...unrealistic expectations of you.” With that, she pulled a slim magazine from her drawer and handed it to Hilda.

“A comic book?” Hilda laughed. “Not really your thing, is it?”

“Pay attention, Sister. Apparently this rag is the hottest selling thing in Greendale...was, that is, until I bought out that greasy shop man's entire stock.”

Hilda frowned and focused on the comic. “The Thrilling Adventures of Lotta Goodlove, Female Adventurer,” she read from the cover. The image was of a shapely young woman, scantily dressed, bound at the hands and feet, as “savages” danced wildly around her, spears raised threateningly. “Silly,” she said with a chuckle. “But hardly the most scandalous thing this town has ever seen.”

Zelda scoffed, taking the magazine from her sister and opening it to a random page. She pointed out a frame, handing it back. “Look at the face, Hildegard! Look familiar?”

“Oh, dear…” There was no denying the resemblance. Big blue eyes, round face, right down to the gap in her teeth. The blonde curls blew haphazardly in the wind as “Lotta” swung on a vine branch between trees. Her bikini seemed painted on, barely covering her ample curves both above and below. “Oh, dear me…”

“Now, Hilda, I have no problem with tasteful nudity. I myself have posed for…”

“I didn’t--”

“But a mortal, Hilda. And this rag is hardly fine art…”

Hilda slammed down the magazine on the bed. “Honestly, Zelda, do you really think I would pose for this? And your ‘fine art’ was an alcoholic Russian Cubist who made you look more like a kaleidoscope than a human being.”

“Are you denying that this is your face?” Zelda demanded.

“No,” Hilda conceded with a shrug. “That’s definitely me.” She wiped a tear from her cheek. “So you think the only reason Jimmy...and the others….is because they think I”m some sort of…”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Zelda murmured, pulling her into a gentle embrace. “I’m so sorry.”

*

“So who is this Ronald Martin, anyway?” Edward asked as the siblings gathered in his study to discuss the best move forward.

Obviously, they couldn’t allow the publication to continue with Hilda’s image splattered in compromising positions all over the place. Even under the best circumstances, a witch or warlock didn’t want their face plastered over mortal publications. In these modern times, it was even more crucial to leave no permanent visual record that could cause uncomfortable questions later on.

And these were not the best of circumstances.

Zelda blew out a puff of smoke from her spot on the divan. Hilda was pacing nervously about the room.

“I contacted the manufacturer listed on the masthead,” Zelda offered. “Perfectly charming editor called ‘Louie’ said it was a small printing, but refused in a moment of, frankly unexpected, professionalism to release the address of the creator.”

“Hildegard, think,” Edward sighed. “When you were in Europe during the War, perhaps?”

“I worked like a dog during the War,” Hilda muttered. “Both of them, honestly. No spare time for mischief. And I would think I’d remember someone who knew me that intimately.” She blushed at Edward’s raised eyebrows. “Not that I look like...that…” She pointed at the comic on his desk. “That is quite a bit more...generous...than…” Her blush intensified as she dug herself deeper. When Zelda could not hold her chuckle in any longer, Hilda groaned. “I did not pose for these pictures, Zelds. Honestly, both of you.” She dropped onto the chair across from the desk, hands over her eyes. “Ronald Martin, Ronald Martin, why does that name sound so familiar?”

“Not an ex-lover, then,” Edward prompted.

“Definitely not.”

Edward sighed as he turned the pages of the comic idly. “Perhaps someone you knew platonically, someone whose interest you may have misinterpreted or simply ignored?”

“All I know is, Hilda, you are no longer doing business with that sleaze-peddler Martello. You can sell your excess produce at the Express Market in Riverdale if you must, but I won’t have you in that store.” Zelda’s sniff had a finality even Edward would have been hard-pressed to deny. “He may not have been personally responsible for this trash, but he had no problem selling it to our neighbors.”

“But the Express Mart doesn’t carry the yarn I like, and their--”

“Can we focus, sisters?” Edward’s frustration with the situation was beginning to show around the edges of his calm. “Perhaps a memory draught would help?”

Hilda shrugged. “I suppose it could.”

Edward’s eyes narrowed. “Sister, I would prefer to handle this privately, but I will need your help.” He reached across the desk to take her hand, squeezing it indulgently. “Don’t worry, Pickles. We’ll sort this out. I promise.”

“Don’t call me ‘Pickles,’” Hilda muttered under her breath.

Edward chuckled. Hilda missed the dark look that passed between her siblings, or she might have been extremely concerned for the safety of the mysterious Mr. Ronald Martin.

*

She woke them both when Hilda sat bolt upright in bed that night.

“Sweet salty Satan, it can’t be little Ronnie Martin!”

*

“So let me get this straight.” Ambrose didn’t bother to swallow the toast he was chewing as he reached for another slice of bacon. “Hilda babysat this little boy back in the 20s, and he grew up to draw pornographic cartoons of her?”

“They’re not pornographic,” Hilda scolded, slamming the pot of porridge on the stove as she did. “It’s...stylistic.”

“Your character alternates between swinging half-naked on jungle vines and being bound and gagged (also half-naked) by lascivious criminals, Auntie,” the young warlock laughed, ducking as Hilda snapped the dishcloth she’d been using as a potholder at him. “Pure smut. Entertaining smut, but smut nonetheless.”

“Don’t pick on her, Ambrose,” Edward said as he entered the kitchen. He was dressed for work, quite sharp in his suit and tie. “Hilda, have you had any luck tracking him down?”

“Once I realized who it was--”

“Cradle-robber,” Ambrose said under his breath, which got him another smack from Hilda’s towel.

“--it was a snap to find his location. His mum still lives in the old farm south of RIverdale, but he moved to Boston after the War.” She wiped her hands, waxing nostalgic as she did. “Such a nice family. When they lost their dad to the Spanish Influenza, it was just her and those three kids, barely scraping by. I did what I could to help.”

“Once again, interfering with mortals lands you in trouble, Sister.” Zelda entered the kitchen, crossing immediately to pour herself a cup of strong coffee. “We will have to contact this Ronald Martin and make him end this sordid mockery once and for all.”

“I don’t think he means any harm,” Hilda said as she ladled the porridge into a bowl for the table. “He was a sweet boy, quiet and shy. With two boisterous older brothers, he would always run to my arms for protection.”

“Seems he was looking for more than protection, Auntie,” Ambrose laughed despite Hilda’s scowl.

“Sexuality is imprinted quite young in mortals,” Zelda said imperiously. “They are much more primitive in their behaviors and far more susceptible to subconscious desires than witches and warlocks.”

“Thank you, Sigmund Freud,” Hilda snapped. “And what is this ‘we’? There is no way I’m letting you anywhere near that boy. You’ll skin him alive.”

“That boy is now a grown man, using your image for peddling smut. I most certainly will not leave him to you to handle.” Zelda lit a cigarette, ignoring the bowl of porridge set before her in favor of another sip of coffee. “You’re far too soft-hearted. You’d probably walk out of there selling him the rights to the Spellman family history!”

“I would never--”

“Sisters, please.” Edward cleared his throat from behind the paper he’d begun to read. “Hilda, I will accompany you to meet with Mr. Martin. We will, of course, use the proper aging spell so as not to confuse the fellow, and we will make sure he discontinues using your likeness in his...artwork.”

“But--” Zelda began.

“As head of this family, it is my duty to protect its good name,” Edward continued with a firm look at Hilda. To Zelda, he added reassuringly, “I promise you. I will take care of this.”

Zelda pursed her lips but said nothing more. The matter, it would seem, was settled.

*

They pulled up at the address in Jamaica Plain to find four nearly identical three-decker buildings across from each other. Edward parked the car across from the nearest of the four, pausing as Hilda checked her glamour in the rear-view mirror. The neighborhood was bustling with kids playing in the street, finding their game of stickball far more interesting than the “elderly” couple who had just pulled up in a Chrysler.

“It’s the house on the right,” Hilda said as she fussed with her hair. “Bottom apartment.”

“Hardly seems the lair of a pervert,” Edward murmured as he turned off the car and pocketed the key.

“Ronnie was a sweet boy,” HIlda said nostalgically. “Very sensitive.”

“Well, there’s no time like the present, Sister.”

They stepped into the late summer afternoon together, to all eyes an elderly brother and sister paying a social call on a friend. Edward rapped lightly on the door with the tip of his cane.

The woman who answered the door had her auburn curls pulled back in a kerchief, her plump body covered in a flour-covered apron. She smiled at the Spellmans, round face dimpling kindly as she did. “Hello, may I help you?”

Edward handed her an old-fashioned calling card with a gentlemanly bow. “Mr. Edward and Miss Hilda Spellman, calling for Ronald Martin, if you please.”

The woman raised an eyebrow at the formality, grinning as she read the card. “I’m so sorry. Ronnie is napping right now with the baby. He’s been working the graveyard shift since the baby came so he can give me a hand during the day.”

“If it’s a bad time,” Hilda began.

“Oh, no, of course not. Where are my manners? Please come in. I’m Dot, Ron’s wife. Please forgive the mess. I’m putting together a cake for Little Ronnie's first birthday. You two have a seat on the couch, and I’ll go get Ron.”

She wiped her hands on her apron, then pulled it off as she hurried into what appeared to be the bedroom.

“A baby?” Hilda said. “Eddie, we can’t. He’s got a wife and baby.”

“Calm yourself, Sister. We’ll be very diplomatic.” He coughed. “Your Ronald definitely has a type, I’ll say.”

Hilda scrunched her forehead slightly. “What do you mean?”

Edward laughed. “You don’t see it, do you?” At her blank look, he laughed again. “Pickles, with the exception of the face and hair, she’s almost an exact double for you. Perhaps a bit more well-endowed, but…”

“She’s a mother, for Satan’s sake. Honestly, Edward, you’re as bad as Zelda sometimes.”

His response was cut short by the sound of the bedroom door opening. Dot returned, holding a sleepy toddler in footie-pajamas adorned with pastel clowns. Behind her, also rubbing his eyes, was her husband, looking more like the harried father of a toddler than a pornographic comic book artist. His trousers were clean but rumpled, a clean work shirt hastily buttoned over his clean white undershirt. Despite what appeared to be a hasty effort at grooming, the majority of his brown hair stuck haphazardly outward in multiple directions. He yawned, placing a pair of thick horn-rimmed glasses at the edge of his nose before greeting their guests.

“I’m very sorry about my appearance. I wasn’t expecting guests.” He held out his hand to Edward, who shook it firmly. “Mr. Spellman, it was?”

“Yes, Edward Spellman. From Greendale. And I believe you may remember my sister, Hilda?”

‘Hullo, Ronnie,” Hilda said.

Ronald turned, his eyes widening in recognition. His jaw dropped, and he threw his arms around Hilda, lifting her bodily off the ground. “Auntie Hilda!” He placed a firm kiss on her cheek, then spun her around. “Dot! Dottie, hon, this is Auntie Hilda!”

Before she could speak, Hilda was wrapped in another enormous embrace, this time from Ronald’s wife. “Oh, sweet heavens! I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things about you since Ronnie and I met! You practically raised him back on the farm.” She pulled away, taking Hilda in from head to toe. “Ron, you said she was an old lady!” She chuckled, shaking her head. “Men!” she added conspiratorially to Hilda. “Why on Earth didn’t you call and let us know you were coming? I would have had lunch made for you both!”

Edward and Hilda exchanged glances. Neither had been sure what sort of reception they’d receive, but this was not it.

“Well,” Edward began. “It was actually a business call.” He coughed. “Mr. Martin, might I have a moment in private with you?”

Dottie frowned, and Ron said, “I really don’t keep business from my wife. We’re 50/50 in this house.” He said it as if he expected an argument, but Edward merely nodded. “Anything you need to say to me can be said in front of my wife.”

“It’s..a rather delicate subject, love,” Hilda said gently. The toddler Dot was carrying had already begun grasping for Hilda, begging to be held in her arms. “Oh, he’s a sweet one, isn’t he?”

“Ron Junior is his daddy’s son, that’s for sure. Would you like to hold him?” Dot held out the boy to Hilda, who received him happily into her arms. “Somebody needs a bottle. Would you like to come into the kitchen with me and help?”

“Of course.” She followed her into the kitchen with a backward glance at Edward as the boy grabbed fists of her grey-blonde curls happily. “Be nice,” she mouthed as the door swung closed behind her. “Oooh, that smells lovely? Is that a butter cake?”

Once they were in the kitchen, Ronald turned back to Edward. “Now, what can I do for you, Mr. Spellman?”

“Please, call me Edward.”

“Edward. What did you need to discuss with me in private?” He motioned to a worn couch covered with a floral blanket. Moving aside a few toys, he sat and gestured for Edward to join him.

“I’m not sure how to broach this subject, honestly. My sister is very important to me, and well, after meeting you, I find it hard to imagine you would purposefully try to embarrass her.”

“Auntie Hilda? Never. Honestly, Edward, you have me at something of a loss here. I haven’t seen or heard from your sister since I joined the army back in 33. I mean, I have wonderful memories of her, of course, and I am eternally grateful for the help she gave my mother when I was young. But I’m confused at how I could have embarrassed her.”

Edward cleared his throat, producing the comic book from inside the summer jacket he wore. “I’m no prude, Mr. Martin, but this...this is hardly the kind of thing one wants to find floating around his home town.”

Ronald took the comic, a confused look clouding his face as he flipped through the pages. “If you’ll pardon my saying so, Mr. Spellman, I have no idea what concern this book has to you. While it may be mildly suggestive to some people, there is nothing embarrassing or vulgar about it.”

Edward frowned. “You don’t think that representation might be a bit embarrassing to the woman in question?”

“What woman?” Dot asked from the doorway.

“He’s upset about the Lotta comic, hon.”

Dottie frowned. “You came all the way here to complain about the book?” She set down the tea tray she was carrying on the table. “No offense, but what business is it of yours what he publishes for consenting adults to read?”

Hilda came in, still holding Ron Junior in her arms. “Well, it is a bit...revealing, don’t you think?”

“All within code guidelines,” Ronald said. “Well, sometimes just barely. But I still don’t understand why you two are so upset? Frankly, I haven’t seen you in decades and I am a grown man.”

Edward took the cup of tea Dottie offered him. “Of course, you are free to express yourself creatively. But when you start using my sister’s image in a racy comic…”

“Your sister?” Dottie laughed. “No, Lotta Goodlove is based on me. Ronnie and I designed her together. The only thing we changed was the face and the hair.”

“Well, you see, that’s part of the problem…” Hilda said as she pointed to a close-up in the comic, then to her own face, posing with a gap-toothed smile. “See the resemblance?”

“No, that can’t be,” Ron said. “I invented Lotta’s face from scratch, taking all the elements I could think of to make her kind, flirtatious, smart, and good. She’s an amalgam.”

Edward pulled a faded picture of Hilda from the 20s out of his pocket and handed it to the younger man. “I’m afraid, son, she’s more a memory than an amalgam.”

Ronald and Dottie stared at the picture, then at Hilda, then at the comic strip, then back at the picture again.

“See it now, love?” Hilda said gently, shaking Ron Junior’s hands out of her hair.

A huge blush formed over Ronald Senior’s face as he turned to his wife with a sheepish expression. “Oh, dear…”

*

“If you read the comic, you’ll notice she gets into trouble, but she never gets rescued,” Ronald said between bites of the lemon cookies Hilda had brought. “These are amazing, Auntie Hilda,” he commented before continuing. “Yes, she’s off trying to save her journalist boyfriend and gets into terrible scrapes. But she never waits to be rescued. She uses her brains, cunning, creativity, and yes, sex appeal, to rescue herself. A new kind of female hero.”

“A tribute to the modern woman. She can do anything a man can do, and still look gorgeous doing it,” Dottie added.

“Had a hard time finding a publisher at first. They wanted a more typical woman--thinner, dumber, more helpless. But those aren't the women I know, and they are definitely not the kind of women I want to draw.” Ronald reached over to put an arm around his wife, who leaned her head onto his shoulder. “My entire life, I’ve been surrounded by strong, capable women. I wanted a heroine who looked like the women I admire, who looked real and beautiful, not some Hollywood paper doll.”

The sun was starting to set as the four sat around discussing art, politics, and business. Edward, to his surprise, found the younger man both sensible and reasonable. “Do you believe you will be able to redraw her with a different face?”

“Of course I will!” He turned to Hilda. “Auntie Hilda, I am so sorry if I caused you any discomfort.”

“I always suspected you were his first love,” Dot teased, kissing her husband’s cheek. “I’d be jealous if I was a different kind of woman.”

“Fortunately for me, you’re not.”

Hilda laughed. “Oh, I’m much too old for him! But I’m flattered anyway.”

“Well, I believe we’d best be heading out, Sister.” Edward stood, clearing his throat and pulling out his billfold. “I’d like to buy the originals for the comic from you. I understand that would prevent a second printing, but this sum should make up for the potential loss of income.” He handed a check to Ronald, whose eyes grew wide. “Is that sufficient?”

Ronald gasped, showing the check to his wife, who also gasped. “Mr. Spellman, this is too generous!” His hand was shaking.

“Nonsense, young man. You show an amazing amount of talent. Plus, you have a growing family. This should give you a buffer to allow you time to work on a replacement for Ms. Goodlove.”

“Thank you. Thank you, both of you,” Ron and Dottie hugged each other, then Ron stood to shake Edward’s hand.

Dottie stood, pulling Hilda into a great hug. She whispered in Hilda’s ear, “Thank you. You made him into the man I love more than anything in the world. I owe you.”

Hilda blushed. “Be good to each other, love. Take care of each other and that beautiful son of yours.”

*

The car was pulling out of the driveway before they allowed the glamour to drop.

“What a nice family!” Hilda said happily.

“Are you sure he’ll stick to the agreement?”

Hilda laughed. “He never could resist my lemon cookies as a boy. As many as he and Dot ate, I’m fairly certain he’ll never be able to draw my face again.”

“We could have just given him the spelled cookies…”

Hilda grinned at him. “And ruined his career? No, you’re not that person, Edward, and you never will be. This way, he can continue with his art and still provide for his family.”

“You’re a bad influence on me, Hilda.”

“I love you, too, Brother.”

Present

The image in the mirror stared back at her, not quite mocking but not wholly encouraging either. Hilda sighed, studying the fit of the dress she’d chosen for tonight. It was a simple flared dress, cinched at the waist with a double-breasted scoop collar. It fit her well, and the contrasting fabrics in the pleats looked smart without being flashy. She glamoured it green, then yellow, then blue, then finally a powerful red. She adjusted the neckline--lower, higher, lower.

“Damascus steel has its limits, Sister,” Zelda said from the back of the room. She carried a thin parcel, wrapped in butcher paper, that she tossed onto Hilda’s bed.

Hilda twirled around, blushing. “I just want to look nice for Cee. You understand, don’t you?”

Zelda crossed the room to adjust the skirt of Hilda’s dress. She looked like a charming anachronism, a sweet 50s lady going out with her beau. The bodice was snug, emphasizing her sister’s ample charms, and the red fabric popped against Hilda’s sun-kissed skin. “You look lovely.”

“Thanks, Zelds. I don’t know why I’m so nervous.”

Zelda drew in a deep breath. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

Hilda pulled a brush firmly through her hair. “Look, a church doesn’t build itself, Zelda. It needs cash. We need cash. Those kids are eating us out of house and home.”

“There are other ways to raise capital.”

“Not this quickly.” She put the brush down on the vanity, assessing her appearance. “Look, I’ve seen what those vintage comics sell for. And I searched Lotta Goodlove on the Internet. Zelda, these things are a collector’s item, and we’re sitting on a case of them. I know if I ask him to, Cee can fetch a good price for it.”

Zelda’s eyes narrowed. “And you are perfectly comfortable with him seeing the original, unaltered versions of that comic?”

Hilda blushed but nodded. “We’re both grown-ups, Zelda.”

“Absolutely,” Zelda chuckled. “I’m sure this conversation won’t be even the slightest bit awkward. ‘You see, Cee,’” she mimicked Hilda’s accent. “‘I was a pin-up girl before you were born.’”

“Stop it!” Hilda laughed. “He understands I’m older than him.”

“Yes, your incubus-riddled boyfriend understands our magical ways,” Zelda said. “So he understands, of course, that if he ever harms a hair on your head, I’ll rip that incubus out of him with my bare hands and beat the two of them together until they’re a mass of bloody flesh.” She smiled sweetly.

“It’s lovely how you’ve welcomed him into the family, Zelds,” Hilda said dryly. She took the parcel from the bed, unwrapping it. “Two copies? I thought we were only selling one.”

“One copy for your boyfriend,” Zelda said. “In lieu of a commission.”

Hilda blushed furiously.

“Oh, and you can thank me later for taking off the spell.”

“Spell? What spell?” Hilda asked.

Zelda peered into the mirror Hilda had been using, adjust her hair as she spoke. “I used our copies as a tag lock to spell any stray copies we weren’t able to retrieve.” She pulled a lipstick out of her jacket pocket and began to apply the red color.

“Zelda Phiona Spellman, what did you do?”

The elder sister smiled mysteriously as she headed toward the door. “Well, unlike every other man who has owned a copy of this magazine, if your boyfriend uses it as inspiration for…” She arched her eyebrows in a suggestive manner. “...self-gratification, he will not end up with a month of erectile dysfunction to show for it.”

Hilda blanched. “You didn’t!”

“Enjoy yourself tonight, Sister.”

“Zelda! You didn’t! No wonder I never got any more dates!” She sighed, picking up a copy of the magazine. “Oh, Lotta. You have no idea the trouble you’ve caused, do you?”

The End


End file.
